Has God ever used something simple to speak into you with?
I stood in my driveway this weekend past, and watched with delight as the good people in my community celebrated Victoria Day with fireworks in the park across the street, and late bbq’s, and children still out after dark shouting ooo’s and ahhhh’s with every colourful explosion.
Someone had oldies blaring from an open window and the sounds mixed with the rockets and the clapping and the scent of lilacs mixed with the smoke from every firework in the night, and top that with the grills still lit with good food, and the night just felt… right.
Maybe I’m just soft and sentimental.
I have this thing in my life that would love to make me a slave. Perhaps you nod a knowing yes to this statement because you have something dogging you right now as well.
My particular battle is with Dysthymic Disorder, also known as chronic depression, and to allow it to rule my life would be a heavy, unruly kind of slavery.
How do I know? Because it has in the past and it still tries to now.
Almost every day. For huge chunks of the last 30 years. And every time it attempts to hold me hostage again, I am forced to remember that “he who the Son sets free, is free indeed.”
There’s no taking this girl back to the slavery that nearly consumed her once upon a time. Never again.
Will you join me over at The Faith Collective this weekend where I share the why and more importantly the Who? I know we’d love to see you!
Will you also join us over at the
Faith ‘n Friends Blog Hop linkup over
at Deb’s Counting My Blessings?
Would love to see you there!
I remember the day three years ago now, that I sat in my doctor’s office, exhausted, so close to tears. After several sessions of questions and backtracking the ups and downs of my health, mental and physical, we finally knew what I’d suffered from.
I remember the relief that came with my diagnosis for Early Onset Dysthymic Disorder. The understanding that I wasn’t a horrible human being, awful mom, lazy wife. But a brave someone who happened to have a mood disorder for almost her entire life.
And I remember realizing that for much of my life, it was shame about who I was that kept me from seeking help.
Why is shame our go-to reaction to needing rescued?
Why do we wallow in our suffering while an answer waits?
Because in matters of the obvious, rescue is always the desired option, isn’t it?
I’m delighted to have my friend Bethany as my guest today!
I first met Bethany through a twitter linkup a year ago and she was so generous with her friendship and her encouragement online. And to have her here being generous and encouraging and real with her words today is the best way I could think of to start my week! Will you give her a warm welcome and share her words with someone today?
There are days life is a mess.
Like the morning I spilled three glasses of water, got hot chocolate all over my clothes, ripped my lunch bag and forgot my needed sweater.
The mess got to my heart next.
Within the hour I was at work in a special needs classroom. A student, twice my size, was spread out starfish style on the floor throwing a fit. My heart was flustered, unsure of how to help and what the student needed.
Frazzled by the mess of the day, I was just quietly asking “Lord?”